One had to understand that Blood had not learned these techniques in the way other cultivators did. The integration process began instantly—and was completed the very moment it started.
His bestowed cultivation technique, Blood Formation Manual—Blood Balancing Art, which he was never certain was a technique or an art, immediately resonated with the new techniques.
His internal organs began to stir wildly, and the churning of his blood became audible, echoing like a hidden drum within his body.
All of a sudden, his body started changing. His legs elongated slightly, his chest became a little broader, and his heartbeat thundered in rhythm with the resounding pulse of his blood.
Blood spread his arms wide, examining his body undergoing transformation. His breathing looked to flow easier than before, and even his nails seemed to lengthen faintly from their roots.
When everything settled, he approached the mirror in the corner and marveled at the figure reflected within. His chiseled face appeared sharper than before, his body daintier yet powerful. He wondered if the items he had redeemed had truly brought such changes.
The exp was well spent.
Still, Blood couldn't understand why his cultivation technique had responded so vividly to the new techniques. After all, he had obtained it from the Blood Book itself.
As if answering his thoughts, a flash message appeared.
[Blood Balancing Art: An Antique Art of Beginning, with refined control over energy, cultivation realms, pristine blood‑flow concepts, bloodlust, bloodline strengthening, and healing alterations, among others, as well as encapsulating movements and other techniques derived from the Blood Approach.]
Blood read the description with wide eyes but couldn't understand. Before he realized it, he became lost within layers of unknown boundaries. As time passed, he sought the deeper meaning of each statement, but he couldn't delve even an inch further.
He soon realized he lacked both the knowledge and the strength and suddenly tried to pull himself free since he couldn't gain anything, but it was futile. It felt as though he had been drawn into a vast field of knowledge.
His blood became still; his body quickly turning numb. Although he remained in the same room, it felt as if he had drifted far, far away.
Just as Blood thought he had lost all hope, a helping hand came forth, as if sensing his distress and struggle.
The octagonal prism suddenly trembled gently, its rotation having been forcibly halted only moments before. Immediately after, it vibrated with violent intensity, releasing a blinding red glow that spread across the spiritual space, staining it blood‑red.
Ink‑like liquid was instantly expelled from nowhere, and the space itself tore apart, as if an essence had been ripped away.
The dark liquid flashed toward the place where the Blood Book hovered, settling at the center of the etched octagonal prism.
The instant it touched the prism, a faint sound echoed. It was subtle yet profound. The large prism that rested outside, whose rotation had been stilled, began to revolve once more, slowly at first, then steadily regaining its former speed.
Soon, it spun even faster, as though empowered by the intrusion.
At that moment, Blood was freed from his stupor, as his dark-tainted eyes became normal, turning blood-red. His reasoning returned, and his senses were reclaimed. Red liquid seeped from his eyes, trailing down half of his face, before merging with his skin.
His heart thundered wildly. He quickly began circulating the Blood Balancing Art, easing the overwhelming pleasure that was moving through him.
The panel displaying the description of the Blood Balancing Art moments earlier, shattered before his eyes, vanishing like it had never existed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall the words, nor did they appear again in his notifications.
However, the feeling remained. He remembered the struggle vividly, though he couldn't identify why had such a memory, which almost made him feel like a fool.
Only then did he realize that two hours had passed. Ballock, who had been fast asleep, began to twist, showing signs of waking.
Blood quickly lay down on the bed, steadying himself before Ballock fully awoke.
Not long after, Ballock opened his eyes and glanced at Blood, who appeared still asleep. He didn't disturb him and chose instead to step outside and check the area.
Cultivators were never too kind in the cultivation world!
___
"Master Alley, it's been six hours since our guests arrived, and we haven't heard anything from them. They said they would leave in an hour or so. Shouldn't we check if they are alright or need anything?" asked a woman wearing a blue mask. She paced back and forth beside a table; her voice tinged with worry.
She was one of Alley's closest aides.
"Do not trouble yourself so much, Shaky. It's a waste of time. With your desperation, you wouldn't even be able to approach them." Alley rebuked sharply, then continued in a calmer tone.
"They are weary and need rest. You saw the mounts they rode—such beasts are not for ordinary men. We cannot afford to offend them." He dismissed her persistent grumbling with a wave of his hand.
Alley remembered the bags under their eyes when he first saw them at the village entrance. They looked utterly exhausted, and so, he decided to let them stay as long as they wished.
"Hum‑hum…"
Alley thought at first that Shaky had cleared her throat, but the sound came from behind him. Turning, his eyes widened in shock, looking at a guy who was leaning casually against a tree, red hues sparking faintly around his body. His arms were crossed, and the aura he exuded was unmistakable—it was that of a Bronze Realm warrior.
"Ha… haa, Master Ballock." Alley stammered, quickly stepping forward with a nervous laugh. "How may I be of service? You shouldn't trouble yourself coming down here. You could have sent one of the servants if you needed anything."
Shaky reluctantly followed behind, her eyes darting between the two men.
It should be noted that with the village's modest size and its nonexistent energy density, Alley himself was the highest cultivator present, barely at the Bronze Realm.
That level of cultivation only qualified the village as a Grade Two territory. And yet Ballock's aura was thicker, heavier, and more refined. In truth, the village was in their hands, and in the cultivation world, such respect was not optional—it was survival.
"Do not be too polite, Elder Alley. And thank you for your hospitality. We truly owe you one." Ballock said with a heavy nod.
But Alley shook his head firmly, nearly biting his tongue for refusing such a favor. "You owe us nothing, master. It is the village's honor to have you here. There is no need for such words." He forced humility into every syllable.
Ballock walked around the room quietly, a faint smile still on his face. The room was filled with books and scrolls, shelves stacked high with tagged subjects. It appeared to be a library of some sort.
And just like that, time passed, and midnight approached.